by W. J. Lundy
Marks shook his head. Gunfire raged behind them. “Fine… make it happen. Take one of the cherries, but don’t go far, stay in the marina… if you fuck up, we won’t be able to wait.”
The bearded sergeant smiled and backed away from the controls, turning and jumping back to the dock in a single leap. Pausing, he looked back at Jesse then turned to Jacob. “You ready to get your dick wet, rookie?”
Jacob looked up at him with shock in his face. Showing confusion and fear, he shrugged; he then nodded, knowing what he had to do.
James laughed. “Good, then drop that pack like a set of college girl panties and come run with me. You ain’t lived ‘til you’ve had some alone time with Sergeant James,” he said, offering a hand to Jacob.
Jacob dropped his rucksack and pushed himself forward. Reaching out, he took James’s hand and was yanked out of the boat and nearly across the far side of the dock. James took off at a light jog, not waiting for Jacob to steady himself. Explosions, mixed with the sounds of the gunfire, ricocheted across the marina.
“We’ll have the engine ready to go; don’t be late,” Marks called out after them.
Jacob leapt forward. Keeping his rifle tight to his chest, he struggled to keep up as James rounded corners looking for the end of the docks and searched for the perfect position. James turned left and moved toward a wooden boathouse structure. Near the boathouse was a flimsy wooden barrier with a gate and a large concrete planter blocking vehicles from driving onto the docks.
James dropped in close behind the wooden barrier next to the planter then signaled Jacob to find a position near his side. Jacob watched as the bearded soldier removed a pair of hand grenades and set them on the wooden barrier to his front. Jacob reached for his own grenades, but the soldier reached out a hand, stopping him.
“Nope, this is just insurance; two should be enough—save yours for later,” James said before looking back to the front.
Jacob could see the mass building far ahead, gathering on the sidewalk across from the pharmacy. Whoever was in the building was putting up a fight, keeping most of the Deltas in the street. The things were standing, using the abandoned cars for cover as they fired into the empty storefront. If they charged, the fight would be over.
“I’ve never seen them fight like that,” Jacob whispered.
James spit on the dock as he raised his right hand to make adjustments to his optics. “Yeah, they get smarter every day. Most still run at you, but every now and then, we find a group like this that knows how to fight.”
“Once I start firing, they’re going to change direction and come at us. You need to be quick and make your shots count. Don’t let your rifle go empty, but call out if you have to reload; I need to know what you are doing at all times. Stay close to me,” James said with excitement in his voice. “Understood?”
Only hearing every other word, Jacob nodded his reply, causing James to spin and grab his shirt collar. “I said, understood?”
Jacob backed away. “I got it!”
“Then fucking say so; this ain’t scout camp—you need to sound off!” James lifted the rifle back to his eye. “We’re wasting time, let’s go to work.” Eager to join the fight, he swiveled, quickly found a target, and pulled the trigger.
Jacob raised his own weapon and searched the street to the front, looking for targets. As he searched, he watched the Deltas drop to James’s rifle. Others stopped firing into the pharmacy, turning in the direction of the new threat. Jacob looked at a tall male through his scope; the creature turned and faced him, its mouth open and ready to scream. Jacob flinched and squeezed the trigger at the same time. Keeping his eye on the target, he was rewarded with a pink mist as the creature dropped to a knee. Refocusing his eyes, Jacob held his breath and fired again, this time watching as the thing’s head snapped back.
He locked onto another target and fired at it on the move. The bullet struck true, and the skinny man tumbled forward from the impact. James let loose a three-round burst into a mass of creatures charging at the storefront. Searching for targets of his own, Jacob locked in on another man who was running toward the docks. He eased back the trigger and fired, missing completely, the rounds dropping behind the creature. He continued to pull the trigger and watched a round impact at the man’s feet, missing again. More screams came from close by; so close he thought they were on top of him. Jacob rose away from the scope and saw that a small group had broken off and moved at them from a flank.
Concealed in a blind spot, they’d gotten to within a hundred feet and were closing at a dead sprint. Jacob stood and backed away from the barrier. Lifting his rifle, he fired quick shots and dropped the first runner. Jacob turned on the balls of his feet to fire into the chest of a woman with a torn shirt. She was armed with a steel rod and slashing at the air as she screamed while running toward him.
Two pulls of the trigger and she stumbled out of control, crashing to the ground. Jacob pivoted hard again and found himself looking into the devilish black eyes of the final attacker. Empty handed, it sprinted on with fisted hands, its teeth bared and lips curled back to reveal charcoal-black gums. It screamed as its arms flailed wildly.
Jacob aimed center mass and pulled the trigger. Feeling no recoil, he looked down and saw that his rifle’s bolt was locked back on an empty chamber. His left arm dropped down, frantically searching his chest rig for a fresh magazine. The screaming man closed the distance and became airborne, flying over the barrier as Jacob tried to feed a full magazine. The metal box slammed against the empty magazine that he’d forgotten to drop. Now fully panicked, Jacob yelped and gripped the rifle, lashing out at his attacker. James spun a half second before the creature impacted; he fired two quick shots, knocking the creature off its path and into the water.
“Well, you fucked that all up. Come on, it’s time to move, rookie,” James shouted. Gripping the first grenade in his hand, he removed the pin and threw it deep to the front. Before it detonated, James had the second pin pulled and arcing into the distance after the first.
He pushed Jacob ahead and together they ran to the small inflatable. The explosions cracked behind them in rapid succession. The gunfire softened, although the telltale sounds of rounds zipping overhead continued; the zips and pings sounded off as they harmlessly struck far away objects. Jacob ran with burning lungs down the dock’s maze of paths. As they neared the inflatable, they heard the engine running—the boat had already been turned in the water and was being held close to the dock, awaiting their return. Jacob neared its side first and poured off the wood surface, tumbling into the boat. Jesse reached out and, grabbing him, stabilized him against the rigid hull.
Jacob pushed back and let his head hang while he gasped for air. He watched as James casually stepped into the inflatable and took a seat at the controls near Rogers. He grabbed a bottle from his cargo pocket and took a long drink. He looked back at Jacob and winked. “Nice work, rook.” He slapped Rogers on the back and said, “Get us out of here. They’ll be hungry now.”
Rogers let the throttle move forward. The engine roared, causing the bow to lift out of the water. As the small boat picked up speed and smoothed out over the lake, Rogers navigated it to open water, aiming for the coastal patrol ship that sat in the dark blue waters of the lake. “Any of those friendlies get away?” Marks yelled over the engine.
James nodded. “Yes, sir; I saw three break out from the pharmacy and run for it once we joined the fight. I lost visual with them after that.”
Chapter 9
“Take her in slow,” Marks ordered. “We don’t need to go getting shot up by a nervous deckhand.”
Jesse sat up, leaning forward. “Those things don’t drive boats. Why would they be nervous?”
The soldiers turned and looked at him. Rogers smiled, showing his teeth. “You’ve been out of touch, boy. Deltas can do it all now.”
“No way? Drive a boat? What about a car; can they fly?” Jesse asked.
Rogers laughed. “Everything. Longer
they cook, the more dangerous they are.”
“Damn,” Jesse muttered.
Jacob looked on as Jesse leaned back against him, shaking his head. Rogers eased back on the throttle. As they moved slower, the lake’s swells became more apparent, the boat rising and falling on the water. Objects on the large ship quickly came into view. Rogers killed the throttle, allowing the boat to glide along the surface toward a back corner of the ship. Two men on deck in digital-blue camouflage ran to the rail, one holding a shotgun at the ready, the other a bright flashlight. The man with the light leaned forward and aimed the beam.
“You all know the drill,” a sailor shouted down at them.
Everyone turned and opened their mouths into the beam of light. The sailor scanned their faces then lowered his light and tossed a line. James caught the other end and held the inflatable close to the ship then tied it off to the ladder, steadying it as Marks reached up and placed a boot on the ladder’s rung. Once he was away, Jacob climbed up next, following the lieutenant until he was on the deck of the ship.
Jacob moved away from the others and pushed against the rails. The deck was large and gray with a building structure just to the left, a hatch door pinned open. Across from him was a large machine gun. A sailor stood watch over it while looking out toward the shoreline with a pair of binoculars. Another sailor emerged from the hatch, rushing to Jacob’s side and helped him out of his rucksack. Others gathered around, lending a hand to carry their gear through the hatch. They were ushered down a passageway and into the ship’s galley where they were directed to large round tables. Jacob followed his team to the front and found a seat at the end of the first row.
Sailors at the front of the galley filled white porcelain cups from a large stainless steel cylinder and handed them out to the waiting men. A young sailor, barely twenty, looked down at Jacob as he passed him a cup of steaming coffee. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any chewing gum, would ya?”
“Uh, no,” Jacob answered.
The sailor bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Well, if you come across any, think of me, okay? I can trade you for it,” the sailor said, walking away. Jacob held the cup to his lips and sipped as he looked over at Jesse sitting across from him. His friend shrugged his shoulders and tried to hold back a laugh. “No chewing gum? Damn, these guys got it rough,” he whispered.
A man in digital-blue camouflage, wearing a black ball cap entered the galley. He stopped at the front and sifted through items on a counter before grabbing the entire tray and walking toward the seated men. As the man approached, he dropped the tray and slid it across the table’s surface. “Wish there was more I could offer you. We’re running low on everything… haven’t been resupplied in weeks,” the man said.
James reached across the table, snatching a packet of saltine crackers from the tray. “Thanks, Chief. We’ll take anything we can get.”
The man shook his head and sighed. “How many times I gotta tell you to call me Bud.”
“Just one more, I promise,” James laughed.
“We had reports of gunfire and explosions on shore. Did you run into trouble?” Bud asked.
Marks slurped at his coffee and set the cup in front of him. “Just helping out some friendlies; nothing worth reporting on.”
Bud shook his head. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d like to avoid a report. You know, with that contact, you’ve shut down this entry spot for a week. The Deltas will be all over this place. Now we’ll have to burn fuel looking for something else.”
Marks ignored the admonishment. “So, what’s the deal? I know the Navy is still flying drones stateside; how does it look over there? Any signs of them thinning out?”
“No, quite the opposite, really; it’s bad. Seeing less and less of the living every day. We can’t even approach the shoreline in daylight anymore without taking fire. We haven’t made a survivor pickup in over a week.”
“Concentrations?” Marks asked.
Bud took a cup of coffee from the table and found a seat. With his free hand, he reached into a pocket on his left leg and removed a long manila envelope. “Heavy around the big cities and, of course, bodies of water. Most of them are scattered along the coastlines. The real danger lately is how fast they gather, and no place seems to be void of them.” The chief took a sip and looked across the table at Marks. “You sure about going across? I can push these orders back; I have no problem doing it. Delay you some; maybe get you a week’s rest on board.”
“What about the captain?” Marks asked.
Bud shook his head. “He still ain’t a hundred percent, and shit is getting to him, losing so many of the crew. He’ll stick with me if I refuse to deliver you. Shit, I doubt he would even know.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Chief, but we didn’t get all dressed for nothing,” Marks said.
“I figured as much. Do you know what’s in here?” Bud slid the sealed envelope across the table, leaving his hand on it.
Marks pursed his lip and nodded his head. “I’ve seen the intel.”
Jacob looked at the faces around him, trying to see if they were in on the conversation or as lost as he was. He saw no looks of recollection or concern, only committed stares.
“Do you believe it? Do you think it’s what they say it is?” He held the envelope, waiting for Marks to take it from him.
“The French and Germans say it works. I think we have to take a chance. Either way, it’s above my pay grade.”
Bud nodded his head and let go of the envelope. “If you’re still getting paid then I need to make some phone calls. I’ll leave you to brief your team. We’ve already set a course for north of Bay City. With any luck, we’ll have you there unseen in the darkest part of the night.” Bud paused to look at his watch. “Looking at oh three hundred. You can rest in here and use the heads on the second deck. Use the showers while you have the chance; hot water is the only thing we have plenty of.”
Bud got to his feet before lumbering to the galley door, stopping just inside the hatch. He turned and looked back. “Marks, seriously, if you or your men need anything or change your mind, come find me.”
“Thank you, Chief—er, Bud.”
The men sat silent until Bud left the room and closed the hatch. James was the first to speak. “Damn, sir, you’ve been holding out on us. Sounds like they got something extra shitty in mind for the Assassins. I can’t wait to see it.”
Marks didn’t answer; instead, he passed the sealed envelope off to James. Marks pushed away from the table and found his rucksack. He flipped it over and removed his sleeping bag from the carrier. James drew his KA-BAR from a hard leather scabbard on his hip and used the blade to slice open the envelope in one smooth stroke. He peeled open the cut edge and removed the contents onto the table: a section of map, a strip of white paper with radio call signs and grid coordinates, along with a smaller, tape-sealed envelope with a yellow tag labeled with a list of names.
James held up the tagged envelope, staring at it. “Tertra… chlora something or other?”
“TCDDMX4,” Marks said. He laid his sleeping bag out flat and moved back to the table, taking a seat over the map. He unfolded it then turned it so everyone could see it.
“What’s a TCDDMX4?” Jacob asked, moving closer and seeming to recognize the word from his college days.
Marks stopped and looked at him, then grinned. “It’s what gives Agent Orange its bite. Seems the same shit that kills us slowly stops the Deltas in their tracks. At least that’s what the Frogs and Germans are saying.”
“No way… Agent Orange kills ‘em?” Stephens said as he reached across the table for the sealed envelope.
“No, not Agent Orange; the toxin found in it—the cancer causing part—when super concentrated and weaponized.”
Stephens paused, examining the word on the yellow tag before holding up the sealed envelope. “So what’s inside?”
Marks nodded. “Instructions on how to test and verify it… if we can find it.”
James laughed as he got up from the table and moved across the room to refill his cup. “And where do we find this elusive black magic that stops the Deltas cold?”
Marks opened the map and pointed at a city near the center of it. “Middleville, Michigan, twenty-five miles inland from our drop-off point. According to sources, they were working on the stuff before the government pulled the plug on the project. Apparently, they still have tanks full of it ‘cause Uncle Sam never paid the expense of destroying it.”
Rogers leaned over the map, using his finger to scale the distance. “That’s a lot of uphill sledding, sir; better hope we can secure a vehicle.”
The lieutenant nodded. “It gets worse; they aren’t even sure that it’s there. The chemical plant may or may not be intact. Satellite and drone imagery shows the holding tanks intact, but we don’t know if they’ve been drained or damaged.”
Stephens put his hands up. “Now hold up. How do we even know this stuff works or what it’s supposed to do?”
“The French assure us it works,” Marks said.
Jacob shook his head. “And they have a history of reliability,” he said, causing the others to laugh.
“Well, look at that, the cherry’s got jokes,” James said.
Marks raised both his hands, silencing the group. “It’s good intelligence, and like I said before, the Germans confirmed it.” He lifted his cup and took a sip before taking the envelope back from Stephens. “There is a small village in Italy, Seveso. In the seventies, there was some sort of chemical spill. Loads of this shit got dumped into the ground there.”